


Keep Me From Falling Apart

by sweetly_disposed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Barista Harry, Bookworm Louis, Coffee Shops, Domestic Violence, Eventual Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetly_disposed/pseuds/sweetly_disposed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry shrugs, nicking a biscuit from the tin on the table. "Here." He holds out the styrofoam cup he's carrying. "Hot chocolate, double whipped cream."<br/>"Oh my god. You're perfect," Louis moans, taking it from him and sniffing it appreciatively. Harry blushes and stuffs the rest of the biscuit in his mouth to stop him from saying something totally ridiculous like 'you're perfect, too'.</p><p>Or, Harry doesn't think he needs help, until there's Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me From Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with both physical and emotional abuse, as well as some dub-con, if you're triggered by any of these please be careful!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is my own original work, please do not post it anywhere else on the internet without my express permission.

He's back.

Harry can hear him through the thin walls of the kitchen. There's the sound a key in the front door, the whoosh of air as it opens before it's slammed shut again, followed by the clanging of keys as they’re thrown into the metal bowl on the little wooden table. He can already feel the panic creeping up his spine, his heart beating just that little bit faster. He tries to take deep, even breaths, straightening out his t-shirt and pushing trembling fingers through his hair. He stirs the soup he’s made from scratch for dinner slowly, focusing on the rhythmic motion.

Arms slip around his waist, a kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. Harry forces himself to relax, to go limp and pliant in his arms and lean back against the body behind him. The hands squeeze his waist but Harry stays silent. He knows better than to speak before he’s spoken to. He does move the soup off the heat and turn around though, meeting his eyes. A kiss is pressed to his mouth and Harry returns it, hands resting on his biceps, feeling the smooth material of his carefully pressed suit under his fingertips.

"You smell nice," he says. Harry knows he does, he used the aftershave he was told to wear.

"Thank you," Harry murmurs politely.

"What’s for dinner?"

"Soup. I made bread, too, and I went out and got that beer you like in."

The other man pulls back, letting him go, and Harry clutches the counter behind him gratefully.

"You’re too good to me, Harry."

Harry only smiles back. He watches as he leaves the room and ascends the stairs to get changed out of his work clothes before dinner. Exhaling shakily, he goes about setting the table.

Harry eats in silence while he chats inanely about his day at the office, reading the newspaper while he eats, pausing in his monologue every now and then to rip a chunk of bread off with his teeth. Soon though, he runs out of things to say and turns his attention on Harry.

"So what did you do today, Harry?" he asks, and Harry’s spoon falters mid-air.

"Um," he clears his throat then speaks quietly. "I, uh, did some washing this morning, then went out to get some shopping and got your beer. I ran into Liam while I was there-"

He knows then that he’s made a mistake.

The air grows heavy, pressing down on him. He bites his tongue fiercely and lowers his spoon, hearing it clink softly as he sets it back in the bowl.

"You saw Liam?" The interest implied in the question is horribly fake.

"Well, he saw me," Harry rushes, "I was just leaving, and he called my name and-"

"You talked to him?"

"He only asked how I was."

"And you said...?"

"I said I was fine."

"What did he say?"

Harry doesn’t answer. He bows his head.

"Come on, Harry," he coaxes softly, dangerously, "What did Liam say to you?"

"Just that," Harry’s voice wobbles. He can’t help it. There’s no point lying. "Just that he wishes I’d call him more."

"...And do you want to call him more?"

"No, no!" Harry says quickly, looking up. "I don’t need to call him. He just worries about me."

Then he knows he’s made it worse.

"You’re sticking up for him?" He leans across the table, voice rising.

"No! That’s not what I meant!"

"Harry, I told you to stay away from him! He wants you for himself, he's always wanted you!"

"He doesn't, I just-"

"Stop defending him!" His chair scrapes back across the tiles as he stands up and Harry jumps violently. "I don’t want you talking to him again, do you understand me?" his voice is quieter now. Somehow that’s worse.

Harry snaps his mouth shut and waits.

 

*****

 

Harry is left alone on the kitchen floor, soup all around him, on his clothes and some in his hair. His hand burns from being pressed against the stove and his ribs ache from the kick, but he picks himself up and begins to clear up.

Later, he’s back, coaxing Harry into bed with soft words and softer touches, calling him ‘darling’, kissing his burnt and blistered hand gently. He hovers over him, stripping him slowly, and tells him that if he only didn’t make him so angry, then things like this wouldn’t happen. If only Harry had stayed away from Liam like he’d been told to, he wouldn’t have needed to get so angry.

Harry closes his eyes, and knows that he’s right.

 

*****

 

It wasn’t like this when they first got together. They met at a party, and Harry had been besotted with James at first sight. He’d hardly believed his luck that James had been genuinely interested in him too. An exchange of numbers, three dates and a kiss on Harry's doorstep later, Harry was in love. He fell for James, and fell hard. In three months they were moving in together, and Harry was blissfully happy. James was kind, generous, the sex was amazing, and he was treated like a prince. If Harry slowly stopped talking to his other friends and his mum, he barely noticed. James was enough for him.

The first time James hit him was nine months into their relationship when they were having an argument over how many hours Harry was working. James wanted him to work less, Harry refused. They yelled, and James had hit him, a fist to the eye. He’d pleaded with Harry not to tell anyone later, begging Harry to forgive him, and Harry had. It was probably his fault anyway; he did work too much, he should probably be there for James more. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself, James had just lost his temper for a split second and lashed out, that was all. So Harry had forgiven him, and he cut his hours at the coffee shop in half when he went into work the next day. If anyone asked about his face, Harry stuck to the story that he'd walked into a door.

 

*****

 

Harry meets Louis when the other boy comes into Harry’s work one day. They’re quiet, only a few men and women in businesss suits tapping away on their laptops, sipping coffee absent-mindedly, and Harry glances up when the bell over the door jingles. The boy in the beanie sits in the corner in one of the soft leather armchairs in the window and pulls out a notebook and pen. He approaches Harry, asking for a large hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows in a gentle, quiet voice. Harry takes his money and tells him he’ll bring it over when it’s ready.

When Harry approaches him, mug in hand, piled high with marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles, the boy is already scribbling in his notebook. Harry sets the mug down quietly, but the boy still jumps a little, torn from his train of thought.

"Thanks," he says, grinning up at him. Harry feels his own mouth pull up into what he hopes is more of a smile than a grimace in response.

He’s still there when Harry is cleaning up at the end of the day. He needs to leave in the next ten minutes max to get home before James does, but he can’t bring himself to ask the boy in the corner to leave. The clock keeps on ticking though, and soon the nerves settle in. And really, he has to leave now.

He clears his throat. "Excuse me?"

Beanie-guy looks up expectantly, then he glances around the room and then out of the window at the rapidly dwindling daylight. "Shit," he curses. "Are you closing?"

"Well, I...I don’t want to ask you to leave, but..."

"No, no! Mate, you should have said something." The boy flips his battered notepad shut and stuffs it in his satchel. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Here." He hands his empty mug over.

Harry takes it gratefully, and beanie-guy nods a goodbye and leaves.

Even though Harry forgoes the bus and run as fast as he can, James is already there when he gets home. He swallows thickly when he gets inside the front door and he can hear James in the kitchen.

"You’re late," James says casually, but Harry knows that tone of voice. "I was worried."

"Sorry," he apologises. "Last customer wouldn’t leave. I’ll get started on dinner, what do you feel like?" He tries to keep it light, tip toeing around, but it doesn’t work. It never does.

That night, when Harry has stopped the blood trickling down his back from the scratches and put a dressing over the still-bleeding teeth marks on his collarbone, he closes his eyes against his reflection in the bathroom mirror and wishes he was a better boyfriend so James wouldn’t do this to him.

 

*****

 

A week later, beanie-guy is back. He orders the same thing and situates himself in the same place as last week. Harry watches him all evening out of the corner of his eye, but the boy doesn’t move. He just sits there and scribbles in his little blue notebook. Harry feels a bit better about going to talk to him when he has to close up to get home to James.

"Hi," the guy sees him approaching, already beginning to pack his things away. "Is it that time already?"

"Sorry," Harry says sheepishly, but the boy waves him off.

"Nah, I should get home anyway. Thanks for the drink, your hot chocolate is really good."

"Thanks," Harry shuffles, unsure of how to take the compliment. "I’m Harry," he blurts.

Beanie-guy looks surprised, but then he smiles that lovely smile again. "I know." At Harry’s confused look he gestures to Harry's name badge pinned on his shirt. "I’m Louis."

"Louis," Harry nods, rolling the word over his tongue.

"Yeah. I guess I’ll let you lock up, then."

"Thanks," Harry says, and then Louis is gone, the bell over the door tinkling in his wake. Harry hurries to lock everything up and turn everything off. He’ll make it home before James does today with time to spare, but he’s still not risking anything.

Louis, however, is waiting for him when he leaves. He smiles a little, and falls into step besides Harry, not giving any explanation as to why he was loitering around outside.

"Do you live far from here?" he asks eventually, just when the silence between them was bordering on awkward.

Harry shakes his head. "No, about a twenty minute walk. Sometimes I get the bus but the walk is nice."

"Mm," Louis agrees. "I know what you mean. I live about half an hour from here, but I work at the bookshop down the road. Stonewell’s Books?"

"I know it," Harry nods.

"I just started there last month. Now I’ve found this little coffee shop that does the best hot chocolate ever, served by this really nice guy..."

Harry feels heat rising up his neck. He opens his mouth to tell Louis that he’s already in a relationship, but the words don’t come. He smiles instead.

"...And I think I should maybe go back there more often?" Louis finishes, as if it’s a question.

Harry swallows, his palms feel a little sweaty. "I. Yeah. You should."

Louis grins blindingly. "I might see you tomorrow then."

 

*****

 

Louis visits the coffee shop more often after that, and he’s always waiting for Harry when he locks up to go home. They walk a little way home together, talking about their jobs, their families...well, Louis talks about his family; Harry doesn’t know how his mum is doing because he hasn’t spoken to her in months. Harry likes Louis; he puts Harry completely at ease in his presence, blue eyes that sparkle and crinkle at the corners when he smiles, a warm laugh that has Harry smiling with him. Louis asks lots of questions about Harry, and he seems genuinely interested in the answers, something that Harry hasn’t experienced in the last half a year. He makes sure to always leave Louis a good distance from his house though, just in case James is looking out for him.

"Harry..." Louis says a month after they first meet as they’re walking home one evening. "There’s going to be a reading this Friday at the book shop, a couple of new authors are coming in to promote their books...I don’t know if you like reading a lot but I’m going to be there and I was wondering if, you know, you wanted to come along?"

Harry hears the meaning behind the question and his heart falls. "Oh, I’m sorry, Lou. I’m kind of...with someone?"

"Oh," Louis says. The disappointment in his tone is painfully obvious but he covers it quickly, "Oh! I didn’t know, you didn’t say anything. Oh god. I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I? I’m so sorry."

"No, no, it’s okay. My fault," Harry says. They walk in awkward silence for a moment. "Sorry."

"No, god, don’t apologise, it's fine, really. I’ll see you soon yeah?"

"Yeah."

Harry watches as Louis hurries away.

When James gets home, it’s clear that he’s had a bad day. He shoves Harry up against the kitchen table and kisses him fiercely, forcing his tongue into his mouth while he unbuttons his work trousers and grabs Harry’s hand, pressing it to his groin. Harry tries to relax, tries to tell himself that James has just had a bad day, he just needs a bit of unwinding, but he’s powerless to resist when he's pushed to his knees. Harry goes to work, trying to bring him off quickly, but James wants to take his time. He pushes deep until Harry chokes, but that just makes him angrier. He pulls Harry’s hair roughly, bringing tears to his eyes, and keeps going. When he finally finishes he pulls out, gives Harry a sharp slap to the cheek and then storms to their bedroom, leaving Harry trembling on the kitchen floor.

Harry allows himself a moment to calm himself, wiping the tears from his cheeks roughly, then he picks himself up and sets about making dinner. When James come up behind him and wraps his arms around Harry after dinner, Harry can't help but flinch.

"Don’t be like that, Harry," James croons, "I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry. I just needed to let off steam." He tightens his grip. ‘You’re so good to me Harry, you look after me so well. You won’t tell anyone, will you? They won’t understand. No one understands what we have Harry. No one loves you like I do. I won’t hurt you again, I promise."

Harry’s throat is still sore, but he manages to croak out. "No, I won’t tell."

He’s foolish enough to believe James’ promise.  
  


*****  
  


Louis doesn’t come by the coffee shop for the next couple of days, and Harry kicks himself for making the friendship they had between them awkward. Friday evening rolls around and Harry is so distracted with thinking about Louis and the gathering at the bookshop, wondering how he can ever possibly go, that he forgets to pick up milk on his way home. It’s an honest mistake, one that someone somewhere makes every hour every day, but it’s different with James. Harry curses himself harshly as he paces the kitchen, muttering under his breath, but when he hears the front door slam suddenly it feels like he’s in a boxed in, trapped with no means of escape. The walls close in on him, his palms begin to sweat, his heart hammers against his ribcage. _  
_

It doesn’t take James long to notice that there’s no milk for his tea. He sweeps the contents of a shelf onto the floor with a swipe of his arm and yells at Harry, getting right in his face, spit flying. A fist to Harry’s stomach has him winded, gasping for air, but before he can get his breath back there’s long fingers winding around his neck, squeezing while James hisses in his face, short, sharp words that feel like they’re puncturing through his skin, growling at him that he's useless, pathetic. He tries to inhale, but the fingers are pressing his windpipe closed and black spots are popping behind his eyelids and he can’t... _breathe_...

Suddenly he lets go, and Harry breathes in precious air, soothing his screaming lungs. His fingers dig into the spaces between the kitchen tiles and he holds on as he coughs, his rolling stomach making him feel like he's going to throw up. A well-aimed kick to his ribs sends him skidding back into the cabinets and then James is storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry lays there for a long minute, shaking, arms holding himself together, but then he’s up, staggering around the flat. He pulls on his coat, grabs his keys, and runs for it, lungs still burning, dizzy from the sudden rush of oxygen to his brain.

He knows exactly where he’s going. He finds the bookshop easily and slips inside, hoping he’s not too late. Warmth washes over him and he leans back against the door, panting. It’s quiet, his breaths echo in the silence, and for a horrible moment he thinks he’s got the wrong day, that Louis won’t be here at all and running away will all have been for nothing.

"Harry! You made it!" comes a hushed voice from around one of the bookshelves. "I was hoping you would..."

Louis' voice trails off, and Harry just shakes his head, eyes closed. Its been days since he's seen Louis and they still don't know each other all that well, but his voice is wonderfully familiar, safe. He feels Louis come closer, and he tips his head back, partly so he doesn’t have to look at him, and partly because he almost wants Louis to see-

He hears the sharp intake of breath when Louis notices the fresh red fingertip marks on Harry’s neck, he can feel the air change when he steps closer to get a better look. A hand on his chin has him flinching, but Louis is gentle, turning his head this way and that.

"Did you get in a fight?" Louis asks quietly. At the shake of Harry’s head he continues, "What happened?"

Harry opens his eyes to look at him, biting his lip. He can’t tell...

"Harry."

"My...my...James."

"Your James? Your boyfriend?" Harry nods. "Your boyfriend..." Louis’ eyes go wide. He skims his hands over Harry’s coat, fluttering uselessly. "Fuck..." he breathes. "Come and sit down."

"No, I can’t. Can’t stay here. Can...can I stay with you tonight?"

Louis nods, eyes scared. "'Course."

 

*****

 

Louis takes Harry home, sitting him down in his small but homely flat and making him a cup of strong, sweet tea. Harry clutches it in his hands gratefully and takes tiny sips while Louis sits next to him and watches him carefully, nibbling his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Can I...Will you show me?" Louis whispers.

But Harry shakes his head furiously. "He doesn't mean to do it, he just loses control sometimes. I do things wrong and he gets angry. He doesn't mean to hurt me." He fails to keep the pleading out of his voice and Louis ignores him anyway.

"Let me see?"

But Harry only shakes his head again. Louis gives him a pitying look, but he fetches him pillows and blankets and pats Harry's knee before he pads off to his bedroom. Harry lies down on his side and buries his face in the blankets, exhausted. Sleep comes to him quickly, and he doesn't stir the whole night, something that he can't remember ever being able to do since he's been with James.

When Louis walks out of his bedroom early the next morning, there are a pile of neatly folded blankets on his sofa, and Harry's shoes are gone.

 

*****

 

James only grunts when Harry goes home. Harry has been steeling himself for a fight since he left Louis' flat, but James doesn't question where he'd been or who with; perhaps out of fear that Harry had actually told someone. Harry just gets on with his cleaning, and acts like he's invisible. Too often, his thoughts stray to Louis. There's an awful feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach for just leaving without a goodbye, but he can't risk Louis asking more questions. Harry already feels bad for telling him about James, he doesn't want to burden him with any more of his problems.

He doesn't see Louis for a week. He swaps shifts at the coffee shop with whoever will take them, and walks a different way home. He prays Louis has told no one else about him, but he can't risk meeting him to find out if he has. James quickly reverts to his normal self when he assumes after a few days that Harry hasn't told anyone, and Harry wears long sleeves after James corners him and takes him to bed so that so no one will see the red marks that wrap around his wrists.

But then, as Harry is walking home, Louis finds him. He waves and crosses the road towards him and Harry looks around sharply, making sure no one else is around.

"Hi," Louis says a little breathlessly. "How are you?"

"Fine," Harry lies, looking at the floor and scuffing his shoe on the concrete beneath him. "You?"

"Yeah, good." Louis looks troubled. "Look, Harry, I-"

"I'm sorry for running out on you," Harry says, and the words sound strange in his mouth, like they imply they'd done something more than just sleep in separate rooms, like they'd been something more than just two people who barely knew each other, not really. The idea that he and Louis....but Harry squashes that down. No. He has James.

"It's okay," Louis says gently, like he's talking to a frightened animal. "I understand."

They stand in silence for a few seconds.

"Are you okay?" Louis blurts suddenly, startling Harry a little. "Sorry, I just, I was worried...and I didn't see you at work..."

"M'fine," Harry nods, but he knows Louis can see right through him. He shifts uncomfortably under Louis' gaze, not liking the scrutiny. Without thinking, he plays with the sleeve of his t-shirt, tugging it away from his arm.

The horrified gasp tells him that Louis has seen the marks on his wrist.

He flushes, yanking his sleeves down and cursing himself for being so careless. But it's too late, Louis has a hold on his forearm and is pulling the material back to look at them again.

"Oh my god," is all he says, looking up at Harry with wide eyes. "Did James-"

"Don't," Harry snaps, cutting him off.

"Harry, please-"

"No. Leave it." Harry clenches his fist. "You don't understand, I, he doesn't mean it, I told you, he just gets little carried away. He wasn't trying to hurt me."

"But he did." Louis crosses his arms over his chest.

"Not on purpose."

"But he _hurt_ you. That's not right, Harry. Do you need help? I can get you help-"

"I don't need anyone's fucking help!" Harry explodes, and Louis takes a step back, "You just need to leave us the fuck alone!"

Louis tries to placate him, holding his hands up, palms out. "Okay, okay."

But Harry is past listening. He turns on his heel and storms down the street, leaving Louis calling after him.

 

*****

 

Three days after that Louis gets home after a late shift to find Harry outside his flat, sitting down with his back against the front door and sporting a new black eye. They only look at each other for a minute, then Louis is unlocking the door and letting him inside.

"What happened?" Louis asks softly when they're sat on the sofa, cups of tea on the table in front of them. "Did he hit you again?"

Harry's eyes slip closed, and he doesn't answer.

Louis touches Harry's shoulder. "Can I see?"

Harry is completely still bar the muscle twitching in his jaw. The he reaches up and strips off his hoodie and t-shirt in one quick motion before he can change his mind. He winces at Louis' expression and crosses his arms over himself, but Louis takes his arms away again and rests a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Harry watches carefully as Louis looks over the scars on his arms, the still-healing scratches on his back, the blotches of bruises at different stages of healing forming a garish canvas of black, purple, yellow, green and red over his pale skin. Louis' eyes linger and widen when he sees the teeth marks on his collarbone.

"Harry," Louis breathes,

"It's not as bad as it looks," Harry says, standing up and moving away a bit because he can't deal with Louis looking at him like that. "I told you, he just gets angry, it's my fault really, I shouldn't wind him up. I shouldn't have told you, either."

"No, you should have." Louis stands in front of him. "I'm glad you did. How...how long?"

Harry swallows thickly. "Few months. It used to be just occasionally but, I, I don't know. I guess I wind him up more now that I used to before."

"Don't you start blaming this on yourself," Louis commands. "This isn't your fault at all. It's James, he's the one with the problem, he's the one ab- doing this to you."

Harry only shakes his head and sighs a deep sigh. "I don't know... He's just angry all the time and I try and stay out of his way but...he always finds me."

"Oh, god."

For a moment, there's silence between them. Then, very slowly and without warning, a kiss is placed on Harry's shoulder, just over a yellowy-green bruise. Harry tenses and waits for the pain, but none ever comes. Louis just brushes his lips carefully over one bruise, then the next, then the next. When no objection comes Louis continues, dragging his lips slowly over a healing scar and feeling the roughness against his mouth. Mapping his way across Harry's torso, Louis kisses every single bruise he can reach, ending on the fading fingerprints on his collarbone. When he cant get to any more he stops, looking up to meet Harry's eyes. His expression is guarded, unreadable.

"What?" Louis asks a little self consciously, heat colouring his cheeks.

"Nothing," Harry replies slowly, looking down and shrugging. "I guess... no one ever..."

"Cared?" Louis finishes for him and watches his tiny nod. "I care."

Harry scoffs a little, and Louis frowns and reaches for his face, gripping his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulling so Harry has no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Harry. I really do." He leans in closer to make his point. "Honestly."

In the end it's Harry that closes the gap between them, pressing his mouth to Louis'. Louis allows him to take the control he so desperately needs, and Harry makes the kiss so slow and unbearably sweet it almost hurts. There's a little sound of pleasure, and then Louis is angling his head differently so their mouths fit together perfectly and he presses harder, parting Harry's lips with his own and yes, Harry thinks suddenly, this is how it should be.

Then he's pulling away sharply and burying his face in his hands.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," Louis stutters, taking a couple of steps back. "That was my fault, you, oh god, I was just trying to help, and now I've taken advantage haven't I? Shit, I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry is quiet for a while. "It's not your fault... I. I wanted it as much as you."

"Oh," is all Louis can say.

"If James ever found out..."

"He won't though will he?" Louis asks worriedly, anxiety tightening in his chest. "How will he know?"

"He has his ways." Harry says tiredly. "Look, I'll just go."

"No! Stay, please, I'll feel so much better if you stay here for the night, I'll get the blankets for you and then you can get some sleep, yeah?"

Harry's smile is tight. "Thanks, Louis."

Come morning, Harry is gone.

This time, though, there's a still-warm cup of tea waiting for Louis in the kitchen.

 

*****

 

Weeks pass. Harry and Louis slowly get to know each other better and better the more they meet in the coffee shop and the book store. Louis pops in for a drink on his lunch break whenever Harry's working, and Harry stops at the bookshop a couple of times on his way home, just to say hello. A firm friendship is established between them, and even though they don't talk about The Kiss, sometimes Harry catches Louis looking at him when he thinks he isn't paying attention.

More often than not his mind is on Louis; when he works, when he walks to and from work, and when he cooks for James in the evenings. He's always careful to give James his full attention, though, but its like James can see inside his brain. He has a sudden keen interest in Harry's job, asking how his shift was, whether he's seen Liam again. He's rougher in bed than usual, like he's staking his claim, like he can see Harry's 'Louis-thoughts' ticking over in his brain and wants to remind Harry who he belongs to.

One Friday, Harry leaves work and stops at the bookshop on his way home.

"Harry!" Louis says excitedly when he catches sight of him. He claps a friendly hand on his shoulder and guides him towards the staff room, letting one of the other staff take over on the tills. "How was work?"

"Eh, same old same old," Harry shrugs, nicking a biscuit from the tin on the table. "Here," he holds out the styrofoam cup he's carrying. "Hot chocolate, double whipped cream."

"Oh my god. You're perfect," Louis moans, taking it from him and sniffing it appreciatively. Harry blushes and stuffs the rest of the biscuit in his mouth to stop him from saying something totally ridiculous like _you're perfect, too_.

"Hey, we're having another guest author in in a couple of weeks, you should try and come along if you're not...busy, or anything."

"I'll see," Harry shrugs, dropping his gaze. That's his trademark answer whenever Louis asks him to go anywhere. Harry knows that Louis realises he can't go out without James' permission, but that doesn't seem to stop him from inviting Harry to every event the bookshop holds. "I have to go, I only stopped by to give you your drink."

"Thanks. Do you want me to pay you back?"

Harry waves him off. "My treat."

"You're too nice."

"I know." Harry shoots him a grin. "Bye, Lou."

"Don't forget to think about the author thing!" Louis calls at his back. Harry only shakes his head fondly and leaves, heading for home.

 

*****

 

Really, Harry thinks, he should have realised something was off in the way that James arrives only minutes after he does, and the way he lets himself into the flat without his usual noise.

James is so silent, in fact, that when Harry turns to the fridge and finds James standing right next to it he jumps violently, stumbling back a few steps.

"Jesus! Shit, you scared me," he cries, holding onto the counter behind him for support.

James doesn't respond. A nagging feeling settles in the back of Harry's skull.

"Good day?" he tries again, but James only watches him, silent. Suddenly he moves, almost prowling the kitchen, circling Harry like a predator around its prey.

"I got out of work early today," he says, voice carefully casual.

Harry swallows. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Boss let me go, weekend and all that. So, I thought I'd swing by and pick my boyfriend up from work."

Ice shoots down Harry's spine. Blood pounds in his ears.

"Imagine my surprise, Harry, when I saw my boyfriend leave work, coffee in hand, and go into a little bookshop on the corner. I didn't know you liked books." He speaks softly, still circling Harry. "So I waited for him. But then he came out without the coffee. So he'd bought it for someone else." He stops his pacing, facing Harry head on. "Who are you buying coffee for, Harry?"

Harry opens his mouth, but his brain is frozen, nothing is happening. He doesn't know how to answer, he's stuck. James is right in his face but he can't-

"For your new boyfriend? Hmm? Have you got someone else? Who is he?" He grabs onto Harry's biceps, fingers squeezing hard. "Come on, Harry. Tell me."

But Harry shakes his head. He won't tell. He has to protect Louis.

"What was that?" James snarls. "Was that a 'no'?"

Tears are already leaking out of the corners of Harry's eyes. He shuts them tight, and thinks about Louis.

 

*****

 

Louis is just getting ready to go to bed. After four episodes of 'How I Met Your Mother' and takeout pizza he's just about ready to crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head, and get at least twelve hours of sleep. He packs the leftover pizza away and sticks it in the fridge, and then leaves the kitchen for his bedroom, turning all the lights off as he goes.

A loud banging on his front door has him jumping violently in the dark, cursing as he knocks into the door frame of his bedroom. The banging starts again and Louis heart jumps to his throat.

He's tempted to leave it. Maybe it's just a drunk neighbour that's got the wrong floor again. His head tells him to ignore it, but his gut instinct has him approaching the door cautiously, creeping towards it in the dark.

The next bang is weaker, like the person is tiring, so Louis steels himself, drawing himself to his full height, and then flings open the door.

The sight that greets him is not one he expects. It's a sight that has his jaw dropping, eyes widening. It feels like the floor beneath his feet has given way and he reels back from the open door.

Harry stands there, swaying unsteadily outside his flat. Actually, Louis can only tell it's Harry by his height and his dark hair that Louis loves so well. His face is... a complete mess. His nose is bleeding; blood drips down over his lips and off his chin onto his already blood-stained top. A cut on the right side of his mouth leaves a garish trail of red down his neck, another cut on his left eyebrow trickles blood down the side of his face. His left eye is purple and slowly swelling shut. His brown hair is a mess, tangled and matted down with already drying blood.

"Harry?" Louis says faintly. "Holy...fuck. What...."

His body slams into panic mode and he hurries closer and loops an arm around Harry's waist, supporting his weight. Pulling Harry's left arm over his shoulder, grimacing at his groan of pain, he guides them back inside his flat, taking care to lock the door after them. Blindly, Louis reaches out with his left hand, fumbling along the wall until he finds a light switch, and he flicks it on. Harry looks even worse in the pale light, and sways again where he stands. Louis pulls him in close, wrapping his arms around his torso to balance his weight better. Harry groans loudly again, breathing laboured. Realisation hits Louis and he lessens the pressure on Harry's ribs, moving his hands away to his hips. They tremble where they hold onto the denim of Harry's jeans.

"Harry? Harry can you hear me?" Louis asks. The panic leaks into his voice, makes it shake. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay. Come on."

Slowly, with little shuffling steps, he walks them to his room, Harry limping as they go. Louis half-lays Harry down on his bed, making him lean on the headboard so he doesn't swallow any blood, and Harry slumps back, head lolling, blood immediately staining the pillow he rests on. Louis heart thumps in his chest as he stares, horrified, down at the broken boy on his bed. He takes Harry's hand and squeezes it, and to his utter, utter relief there's a response, a squeeze back. It's feeble, but its there.

"I'm going to call an ambulance, Harry," Louis says in a voice that sounds far away, even to his own ears, and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Harry squeezes Louis hand hard, though, and he shakes his head on the pillow fractionally. "But I don't know what to do," Louis says, verging on the hysterical. "You're hurt, and I can't -" Harry squeezes his hand again, and Louis has to force himself to take a deep breath. "...Okay. No ambulances."

Harry's own breathing is shallow; he takes in irregular little gasping breaths. Lifting his T-shirt gently to look at any possible damage to his ribs, Louis has to swallow down the sudden urge he has to throw up. Red, angry marks litter Harry's ribs, black already in some places, new bruises to match the old. Louis skims his fingers over them one by one, focusing, trying to ignore Harry's little coughs of pain. Thankfully, nothing feels broken, although maybe one or two are cracked.

"Stay awake, Harry," Louis murmurs. "Don't fall asleep yet."

He runs out of the bedroom to the bathroom and grabs a washcloth, wetting it with warm water and then rushes back to Harry and shakes him gently. Harry's eyes slide open.

"Good boy. Eyes on me, yeah?" Louis starts dabbing at the blood on Harry's face, clearing away some of it. Harry's breath hitches every so often, especially when Louis dabs around his nose, but that doesn't look broken to him either. The white washcloth quickly becomes red, and the blood isn't slowing at all.

Louis steps back away from the bed and stares. There's so much blood and he still hasn't discovered if there's any bleeding coming from anywhere else yet. He doesn't know what to do. This...this beautiful boy has been hurt so badly Louis can barely recognise him, he's bleeding so much and he's so, so still, it's like he's barely breathing. The only way Louis knows he's still conscious is his blank stare, fixed on Louis, staying awake like he's been told to.

"Harry, I really need to call an ambulance," Louis chokes. Fear fills Harry gaze and he shakes his head again. As he does, Louis can see blood on the pillow underneath his head. "You're hurt, Harry...you're really hurt, and I can't help, I don't know how, I-" Harry shakes his head harder, a tear slipping down his cheek, and reaches out to take Louis' hand.

"Please," he slurs, "no hospitals."

"I'll stay with you, I promise," Louis tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and he reaches for his phone again. He stabs the keys and dials 999 with trembling fingers.

"Lou..."

Louis closes his eyes so he can't see Harry's expression, but he holds onto his hand tightly. "Ambulance please."

 

*****

 

Louis stares at the white hospital wall. He'd lost track of counting the minutes a while ago. When they'd arrived at the hospital and calmed Harry enough to persuade him to let go of Louis' hand, Louis had been asked to go and sit in the waiting room while they'd assessed his injuries. The hand on the wall clock ticks so slowly, each minute passes as slowly as a day. He clenches his fists together and tries his hardest not to cry, but he only has to think of Harry hooked up to an oxygen machine in the back of the ambulance, holding onto Louis' hand for dear life, and tears spring to his eyes.

He scrubs them away and breathes, _in, out, in_ , trying to calm his nerves.

A nurse hurries down to the corridor towards him. "Are you Louis?"

Louis nods, and she looks relieved. "Would you come with me, please?"

Louis shoots to his feet and follows her down the hall quickly. "Mr Styles won't settle," she says in a clipped tone as they walk. "He keeps asking for you, and we can't discuss his injuries with him until he's calmed down."

"Is it bad?" Louis croaks.

"I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you." She stops at a set of double doors at the end of the hall. "In here."

Louis can hear him from outside. He sticks his head around the door carefully where the shouting is louder, not knowing what to expect.

"Louis," Harry says in a thick voice when he sees him. He's still struggling feebly with the wires he's been hooked up to, trying to pull them off his body, but he beckons him in with a frantic hand. Louis takes Harry's hand and holds on, and Harry meets his gaze with bleary, slightly unfocused eyes.

"They all want to talk to me, Lou. I don't want to talk," he mumbles.

"S'okay," Louis soothes, moving closer. "You don't have to talk, don't worry. But you need to listen, okay?"

"But they'll know, and, and they can't know, because, James-"

"They already know, Harry," Louis locks eyes with a doctor, who nods. "They know about him, they understand, you don't need to hide."

The doctors talk them through it when Harry's calm enough to listen. From their assessments, he's got three cracked ribs, bruising on a large percentage of his body, two fractured fingers and gashes on his face and in his scalp that required stitches. Lucky, they call him, because it could have been a lot worse. Louis thinks Harry's anything but lucky. The doctors and nurses watch Louis as he strokes the hair away from Harry's face with his other hand and murmurs to him in a low voice, settling him.

"With your permission, Mr. Styles, we'd like to call the police in," the doctor says with a grave expression.

Harry pales, even under all the bruising and the remnants of blood on his tear stained face. He looks up to Louis, and Louis tries to smile encouragingly and presses a kiss to the back of Harry's hand. Harry releases a breath slowly, grips Louis' hand tighter and nods.

 

*****

 

Harry moves in with Louis.

He quits his job at the coffee shop, packs up his stuff with Louis while James is at work, and leaves, slamming the door behind him and posting his key through the letterbox. Louis clears space for him in his drawers in the bedroom and makes up a bed the best he can on the sofa. Harry seems grateful. He moves almost silently, and Louis will often turn around and jump half out of his skin when he sees Harry standing behind him. Little by little, Harry opens up, becomes more relaxed around Louis, although he still doesn't know what to do with himself when it's Louis' turn to make dinner. He laughs more, eyes crinkling at the corners, showing his teeth as he chuckles at the tv, or, more often than not, something Louis has done.

As much as Louis likes to think that Harry is slowly getting better, he has his bad days. Some days he doesn't get up from the sofa before Louis leaves for work, and is still there when Louis gets home. He refuses to leave the apartment, and when Louis is out at work he is bombarded with texts from Harry during his shift, asking all sorts of pointless questions. He knows Harry needs the reassurance that James hasn't been released on bail and has come looking for them, but after the third time Harry asks him what time he's getting home, Louis gives in and asks to go home early.

Harry is clearly relieved to see him. He makes Louis tea as soon as he's in the door and watches him as he drinks as if looking for confirmation that its okay. It occurs to Louis with a sickening jolt that Harry really is concerned about how the tea is. He knows that if there had been something wrong with James' tea, Harry would have gotten a bruise for the trouble. Louis smiles reassuringly and reaches out to pat his shoulder.

As soon as his hand gets too near Harry's head, though, he's stepping away sharply, flinching.

Louis hand falls uselessly to his side. Harry's eyes are wide. His mouth opens as if he's going to speak but nothing happens, so he dodges past Louis and down the hallway. Louis hears the lock on the bathroom door click a moment later and he puts his tea down on the side.

Suddenly, he isn't thirsty anymore.

 

*****

 

It's not only the fear of any sort of closeness that troubles Harry. The nightmares come for him at night.

Louis jumps awake, heart in his throat, to the sound of horrible, gut-wrenching screams. Tumbling out of bed he races to the living room, terrified that somehow James is here, he's found them and he's come back for Harry and he's going to hurt him again-

But there's no James. Instead there's Harry, legs tangled in the blankets, hands grabbing at nothing, tears streaming down his cheeks. Louis drops to his knees beside him and grabs his hands, but that only makes him thrash harder.

"Harry!" he shouts, but Harry can't hear him. He stares at nothing with terrified, unseeing eyes, trapped with the monsters inside his own head.

"Harry, it's only me, it's me. Come on, love, wake up for me, come on..." Louis murmurs, shaking Harry's shoulder gently.

Harry jerks awake, pushing himself into the back of the sofa, looking around wildly. His eyes come to rest on Louis, and Louis sees the tension seep from his face, morphing into relief. He slumps back down into the cushions, breathing heavily, and his grip tightens around Louis' hands. Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said. Louis knows Harry doesn't want to talk about it, and Harry knows Louis understands what the dream was about and doesn't need to reassure him anymore, because he's safe now.

Fifteen minutes pass. Harry relaxes slowly and begins to look sleepy again, so Louis tugs him up and leads him to his own bed, pulling the covers over them both. Before he has even got comfortable Harry is asleep, snoring lightly, although he's curled himself up as small as possible almost on the edge of the bed.

He always sleeps in Louis' bed after that.

 

*****

 

They're lying in bed one Sunday morning, having a lazy breakfast in bed. The quiet between them is peaceful as they crunch their toast and sip their tea. Maybe they'll go out today. Not far, just for a walk around the park or something. If Harry doesn't want to, they'll stay in bed all day, or curl up under a duvet on the sofa and watch classic films for hours and hours and only stop to microwave more popcorn. Whatever they choose to do, Louis only wants Harry to be happy while they're doing it.

As if he can sense his thoughts, Harry puts down his tea and looks at Louis. Louis can't work out his expression. It's almost like he wants to ask for something but won't, or can't.

Louis wonders. Maybe...

Louis leans in, slowly, and Harry leans too and they meet in the middle, lips touching with only the slightest pressure. Louis is the first to pull away, not wanting to push Harry too far too fast, but Harry follows him back and reconnects their mouths, angling his head to the left and pressing a little harder. Louis can taste tea and toast on his lips, feel Harry's morning stubble scrape against his on his chin. Carefully, he places a hand on Harry's neck. There's only a slight flinch, and then Harry is leaning closer, sliding a hesitant hand around Louis' waist.

Progress, Louis thinks. Small steps.

 

*****

 

A week later, they go to James' trial.

Harry wanders around the courtroom beforehand, familiarising himself with it while Louis sits in the spectators stand. He's terrified, Louis can see it in the way he won't make eye contact with anyone, the way he tugs on his suit sleeves and pushes a hand through his hair frequently. He longs to go down and pull Harry close and tell him they'll do it together but he can't. He won't. Harry needs to do this himself.

The jury file in, then James. Louis had expected to feel hatred towards this man, but on finally seeing him, Louis is surprised at the absolute, unrestrained loathing he feels. The anger radiates off him, he sees red, and if he weren't so focused on getting Harry through this he'd be over the railings and running across the courtroom. James stands there, so cocky, so confident, staring Harry down, trying to belittle him again like he's done for so many months. It makes his blood boil.

The trial starts. Harry's representatives immediately attack James, telling the jury in graphic detail the abuse Harry suffered at his hands for so long. Louis is prepared for when they bring out the photos of Harry's injuries they'd taken in the hospital, but it still makes him feel sick to look at them. A quick glance at the jury tell him they're feeling the same.

When Harry has to give his statement, he does so in a clear, almost mechanical voice. He gives his own account, not skipping on the details. His voice wobbles a little but he takes a moment to compose himself and, with a quick glance at Louis, he soldiers on through. A swell of pride rises in Louis' chest and he is sure to smile reassuringly at Harry the next time he looks over.

The defence lawyers are unbelievable. They spin a tale of bullshit; how James himself was abused a child, so he's always struggled with emotions and doesn't know any other way to release them. They say that with the right help James will never do anything like this again, that he can change, if only he were to be given a second chance. James' whole demeanour has changed when Louis looks at him. He is slumped over, head down, nodding solemnly when his lawyers promise he can be different. Harry's mouth is hanging open in disbelief the whole time.

At the end of the trial, James Parker is given a four year sentence. It would have been longer, the lawyers tell them after, but he'd shown remorse for what he'd done which swung in his favour and reduced his sentence. He's lead away, handcuffed, but at the last minute he turns and winks at Harry, smirking a little. Harry pales instantly and Louis gnashes his teeth together. He waits impatiently for the court to clear, then he's hurrying to Harry, looping an arms around his waist and pulling him in. Harry doesn't cry, which impresses Louis, just leans his forehead on Louis' shoulder and holds on.

"Four years," he says eventually. "That's all they gave him."

"I know," Louis rubs a hand up and down his back. "But that's four years for us isn't it. Four years without worrying about him. He's gone."

Harry manages a tiny smile. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah." Louis says. "Let's go home."

 

*****

 

That night, they lie side by side in silence. It's only a little uncomfortable; Louis can't gauge Harry's mood. He'd shut himself in the bedroom when they'd got home, and Louis had pressed his ear against the door three times to check on him, each time hearing nothing. He'd left him to it, ordering in pizza for them both and leaving Harry's outside the bedroom door for him.

Now he listens to Harry's breathing. There's no noticeable change to indicate he's fallen asleep, but Louis doesn't want to ask what's up. He's stuck between wanting to help and wanting to leave Harry to sort it all out in his head, and its frustrating the hell out of him.

Suddenly the mattress shifts, and a warm body presses up against his side.

"Hey," he whispers. "Everything okay?"

"Hmm," is the reply. "Think so. I mean, not really, but I think I'm getting there."

"I'm glad."

More rustling, then Harry is tracing his features in the dark, finding Louis' lips so he can press his own against them. Louis turns on his side to meet him and they stay like that for a while, exploring slowly. When a tongue touches Louis' lips gently he parts them and lets Harry in, letting him do whatever he feels like doing.

Things heat quickly, breath becomes shorter and they press together from chest to knee. This is the closest they've been, and Louis is aware of every movement Harry makes in case he starts to panic. But then there's a hand that isn't his own sliding down his chest, lower, lower...

Louis breaks away, breathing heavily. "Harry-"

"Can we?" Harry asks in a hushed voice. "I want to."

"You're not ready. There's no rush."

"I am. I want to, please?" He twists his wrist and Louis' hips jerk involuntarily, powerless to resist.

" _God_ , okay, right. But promise me if something...goes wrong...you'll tell me and we'll stop?"

"Okay."

" _Promise me._ "

"I promise, Lou."

They flick on the bedside light so they can see what they're doing, and one look at Harry, lips swollen, pupils blown, and Louis is nearly coming undone. He reaches for Harry and tugs him down.

Louis insists Harry tops. He knows Harry needs the control; he needs to have control over this and know how good it can be. Louis knows what happened with James, and he wants Harry to be able to let go completely and not worry about being hurt for feeling good. When Harry hovers over him, worry evident in his eyes and constantly asking if Louis is okay and what he should do next, Louis talks him through it gently, telling him when to push forward, when to pause for a moment. Finally, he's in all the way and _yes_ , yes it's good. He moves with slow strokes that gradually increase as Louis encourages him softly, his confidence builds as he leans over to kiss the breath out of Louis as they move together.

Harry looks stunned when he comes, pupils blown, mouth open like he wasn't aware of how good this could feel. He collapses onto Louis with a shudder and a groan and Louis strokes a hand down his sweaty back, turning his head to kiss his ear where his face is buried in his shoulder. Without saying anything Harry shifts and reaches between them, and with a few tugs Louis is finished too, throwing his head back on the pillow and coming as Harry kisses down his exposed throat.

Neither of them want to move but that's okay, because even though he's sticky and sweaty and a bit uncomfortable, when Louis looks at Harry on the pillow next to him and sees a happy, silly grin, suddenly he doesn't mind. Not one bit.

 

*****

 

Harry wakes up early the next morning. He has the urge to pee and shower and possibly scavenge for some food for them, but with Louis still fast asleep beside him he doesn't want to move and disturb him. Louis' arm is heavy over him and he's pressed so close to his side their skin is stuck together, but Harry can only smile down at him.

In his mind, he can see himself and Louis together. He sees himself waking up in the morning next to Louis, making them tea to have in bed, lazy Sundays spent in front of the tv. He'll get a job, maybe back at the coffee shop, and he'll bring Louis drinks again and finally go to one of the author talks that he raves on about. They'll share the cooking at home, and order a takeaway if they can't be bothered. He sees Louis kissing him gently, sharing soft kisses that don't always lead to sex. Louis would never hurt Harry, not intentionally. And Harry would be happy.

He has a long way to go, he knows. Louis doesn't know that the panic still comes sometimes when he's not around, but he doesn't need to find out about that. Harry hasn't told him about everything he went through with James, and maybe he never will. He knows he's damaged goods, he knows he needs patience and understanding and space but maybe, he thinks, Louis can give him that. He'll still have his bad days, where the darkness will close in on him and suffocate him slowly, but he knows that Louis will grab him and pull him, kicking and screaming, into the light.

A couple of months ago he never would have thought things would ever get better for him. Now though, as Louis snuffles against the pillow and starts snoring slightly, breath tickling his shoulder, Harry knows they will.

One baby step at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback/Comments welcome :)


End file.
